“No,” said Adalia. The kid looked at Pearce, beside her, then back to Carlisle. Her eyes seemed hollow. “Yes.”
Carlisle slipped the Yukon into gear, then dropped the hammer. Wheels scrabbled and the machine surged forward, the big engine wanting to be away.
“Where are we going?” said Pearce.
“Chicago,” said Carlisle.
“After that thing?” Pearce leaned back in her seat. “You trust it?”
Carlisle laughed, then winced with the pain, gripping the wheel tighter. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Carlisle. “She’s in love.”
Ajay looked at her, then laid a cautious hand on her arm. She felt a feeling like butterflies, which was unexpected given the circumstances. “You’re beginning to learn what it means to be the Shield,” he said.
Carlisle slowed the machine as they started to hit the wake of Danny’s passage, bodies falling under the Yukon’s wheels. “I’ve only got one challenge,” she said. She had to raise her voice over the rush of air through the shattered windscreen.
“What’s that?” Pearce was all business, her voice steady even with the noise around them. The woman was used to commanding, yet was sitting this one out. Why?
“Keeping up,” said Carlisle. The creature was ahead of them, driven by rage down the freeway towards Chicago. Danny was loping ahead on back legs, forelimbs swinging like rams as she battered their way clear ahead.
Towards Valentine.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
“This is why,” Talin said, “I did not kill you before.”
Assembled in front of him, some shivering in the cold of the room, were his best lieutenants. They stood beside him as he’d clawed his way up from poverty and across the world to stand here, in the city of the two rivers. They’d seen everything with him, and bore witness to his strength.
They had also seen his weakness.
Prey.
Talin clenched his teeth. Not now. He pushed the Night back and down, but it struggled against him, straining against the bonds that held it. So strong! Stronger than he’d ever hoped, this power. There was plenty there to do what was … needed.
“You will have seen my armies cleansing warriors from the outskirts of our city,” he said, his voice husky. “They couldn’t stand against the Night. But now, another comes — another, like me.” He laughed. “And yet so unlike me. She is weak with kindness, hindered by the need to protect. Her Night is confused, and that will be her undoing. She broke her own Shield.”
Talin walked on legs that felt new and strong to stand before Lyron. He looked the man in the eye, seeing the fear there. Good. Fear is good. He didn’t want blind obedience, not from these. He needed his own warriors, warriors with thought, who would not toss themselves like waves to break upon the rocks of another’s Night. He would reforge them into something stronger. Something better.
Something more like Talin himself. He let a hungry smile grow on his face. “Lyron. It is time. Do you choose to become all you were meant to be?”
Lyron looked him in the eye, the fear still there, but something else — hunger, desire for power. Good. “My lord. Yes.”
Talin took the quick steps necessary to get to the table, equipment nestled there for just this moment. He had prepared five sets of equipment for five perfect soldiers. He let his hands rest, as if in a gentle caress, against the first vial of blood. A mixture of snake, ox, and — harder to get than he’d expected — bear. A salting of sulfur had gone in alongside ash. All ingredients to drive the change he needed. He picked up a knife made from bone, a single long sliver of white, almost transparent along its edge. It had been rendered from the leg of a horse; it felt light in his hands. Lifting his other hand from the vial, he picked up the pack of playing cards stolen from a high roller at the peak of his run. Las Vegas, the city conjured from the sands of the desert and the lost dreams of the hopeful, was another city imbued with power. They were ripe for the harvest, if you knew how to look.
He tossed the cards behind him, letting them fall where they would. He listened for the plastic flutter as they tumbled through the air, the sound almost like rain as they hit the cold stone of the floor. He snared the first vial of blood, then turned around to face his lieutenants, noting that all the cards had landed face down. He pointed with the tip of the knife at Lyron. The other man swallowed, then his face hardened. As if he was getting ready to die—
Why does he fear what is to come? Pack should not fear pack.
It is because, said Talin to the thing inside, he will die. Lyron was pulling his jacket off, letting it fall behind him. His sweater, then shirt, joined the jacket, forming a small pile of clothing on the ground. Talin still held the knife out point first at Lyron, his arm never wavering.
We must not hurt pack.
Such strength! He almost dropped the knife, a tremor running through his arm. Talin gritted his teeth against it. He had fought with the witch Raeni and bested her. He would best this thing of Night as well. We are making him better than he is. We are shaping him into something stronger.
The wind does not die to become stronger. The wind grows as it fights against the land. This is how strength is made.
Talin’s eyes widened a fraction. It had never spoken to him like this before. Normally it was snatches of sound, bits and pieces of nonsense spoken like a drooling shaman or an idiot child. But this, it was almost making sense. And he didn’t have time for it. You will do as I say. You are mine.
There was no response this time, but Talin felt something watching him, something immense. Something terrible. Good. He needed all the terrible things of this world to do what he wanted to do, to be what he wanted to become. His arm was once again firm, the point of the bone knife leveled at Lyron. He held out the vial in his other hand.
Lyron stepped forward until the tip of the bone knife touched his sternum. He reached forward, taking the flask from Talin. “It will be done.” He opened his mouth, lifting the flask, and drank. The man’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He lowered the flask, then tossed it aside. It landed with the crack of breaking glass. Lyron looked at him. “I have—”
Talin thrust the knife forward, the bone entering Lyron’s chest. He pushed it until it was buried up to the leather-wrapped hilt, then gave it a savage twist. The blade ripped and tore inside Lyron, and the handle snapped from the blade, leaving the bone embedded inside the man. Lyron tried to scream, but only blood came from his mouth in a savage wet gush. It splattered against Talin, and he reveled in the hot wetness of it.
“Choose,” said Talin, gesturing at the cards on the ground. “Choose, Lyron, and Become.”
Lyron stumbled to his knees, the strength leaving him; Talin could feel Baron Samdi draw near. Lyron’s face had turned ashen, his lips blue, as he scrabbled against the ground for a playing card. He managed to grip the edges of one briefly before it snapped away from him, sticky red fingerprints marring the back of it. Talin watched as Lyron cast about him for another card, his movements becoming weaker still. The man toppled to land face forward on the ground, his breath a gurgle.
We can save him.
We are saving him, thought Talin.
You can make him one with us.
Talin pushed back against the Night clamoring to be set free. Be still. He watched as Lyron’s fingers found another card, the strength almost gone from the man. His fingernails scratched at the edge of the card, the lip of it leaving the ground before snapping back down. The man’s eyes were unfocused now, Samdi’s shadow standing tall and patient behind him. Talin crouched down, leaning his head forward until his lips were a hands’ breadth from Lyron’s ear. “Lyron,” he said, his voice low. “Lyron, you must choose a card. There is no going back. You can either choose a card, my friend, and join my side, or you can take the long walk to the Cliffs. The Baron is here, Lyron. He is here and he is reaching for you.”
Whether his words had an effect, or
it was a last animal reflex, Lyron’s fingers managed to peel the card away from the floor. It flicked up, skipping along its edge as it skittered and danced away. Lyron’s last breath left his body in a rattle, as the card fell — face up — against the ground.
The Joker.
Talin reached out a hand, clapping Lyron’s body on the shoulder. His other lieutenants were watching in silence and fear. Some believed, some did not. It didn’t matter whether you believed in the lion; the lion was still hungry. “Rise, Lyron.”
The body shook under his hand, and Talin released the man’s shoulder, standing upright. “Rise, Lyron.”
Lyron’s frame convulsed, and the body got an arm underneath, pushing itself away from the stone. Red-rimmed eyes looked at Talin, then moved with predatory intent to the other four of Talin’s lieutenants. Talin clapped his hands, and those eyes snapped back towards him. “Rise, Lyron.”
And Lyron did, moving with slow, deliberate movements. A knee came up underneath him, and he levered himself upright. His body unfurled like a fern, coming upright to stand tall and strong before Talin. Talin gave the man a rare smile. “My friend. Today you are no longer Lyron. I take that name from you.” He stepped towards the upright card of the Joker, picking it up from the ground. He turned back towards the man who had been called by his family, his friends, and even his enemies as Lyron, and held the card out. “In return, I give you another. Am I not generous?”
Was-Lyron reached out a hand, taking the card. Those red-rimmed eyes looked at the smiling face of the Joker before looking back at Talin. “What will I be called?”
“You will be called many things,” said Talin. “But you will have only one name. The name I give you is Choler.”
“Choler,” said Choler. He turned back towards Talin’s other lieutenants, as if the bone buried in his chest bothered him not at all. “And these?”
“Brothers and sisters yet to be born,” said Talin.
“Come, then” said Choler. He gestured an impatient hand at the others, blood still trickling from the hole in his chest. “We have little time.”
It didn’t take long for them all to be born. Within the hour, Talin had five perfect soldiers, and he let them run free.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
The boy was watching the Lost Soldier — Jessica. She was sitting next to Adalia on the big back seat of the Yukon as it followed in the wake of … of…
“It’s best not to think about it,” said the boy, turning dark lashes her way. “It’s not your job to help her.”
She’s my mother. Adalia’s fingers skipped over the face of her phone, the text coming up in smaller letters than it deserved. Adalia wanted a big font, lots of red. She settled for an emoji of an angry face.
“That’s why it’s not your job,” said the boy, turning back to look at Jessica. “It’s their job to help us.”
Adalia tapped her phone against her hand. She watched the boy stare at the Lost Soldier, then keyed on her phone. Do you know her?
“Yes,” said the boy. “And she knows me.”
It was funny how they called Carlisle the Shield, and Jessica was the Lost Soldier. Carlisle, it made sense, even Adalia could see it. Being the Shield came out of every part of her, hammered bright and strong. But Jessica … there was something lost about her, but Adalia couldn’t see the details. Like they were blurry. Why is she called the Lost Soldier? What war did she lose?
The boy laughed. “As far as I know, she’s never lost a war.” He cocked his ear to one side, sitting in the space between the front seats — Adalia blinked and tried not to look too close — as if he was listening. “No. Never lost a war. Well, until that happened.” He pointed out the back of the Yukon, the road stretching out behind them to a point where a bunch of soldiers and people were lying, dead under the winter sun.
The phone spun between Adalia’s fingers, the screen glittering in the gloom of the cabin. I don’t think she lost. I think she’s won everything.
The boy looked at her like she was crazy. “Did you get hit in the head back there? No, that can’t be it, you didn’t get out of the car. She — we got creamed. Until, well, until your mom went all Wrecking Ball.”
Adalia smiled at that. I don’t think that’s how you use ‘Wrecking Ball.’
“Whatever,” said the boy. “My point is, we were all going to die.” He paused, then hugged his knees close. “Sorry. You. You were all going to die.”
You can be hurt, typed Adalia. I’ve seen it.
“I made a good comeback,” said the boy. A frown crossed his perfect, porcelain face. “But you’re right. I didn’t think … I didn’t know the Night could do that. I don’t know all the rules.”
She won everything, typed Adalia, because we’re here. You’re here.
“Seems a bad trade,” said the boy. “The lives of thousands of people for us.”
I wish you could have met Val. Adalia held the phone close so the boy couldn’t see before she’d finished typing, her fingers moving in furious rhythm across the screen. He would have said something like how we’ve got to save the world. I guess if I think about how you talk about the Universe, like it’s a thing that’s alive, maybe this Universe needs the world saved. Maybe it thinks it’s not a bad trade at all. She shivered as she let him see the screen.
“You’ve got to wonder,” said the boy. “I mean, it sounds right. Sounds like something it would do. But how does it decide who gets to do the saving and who gets to do the dying?”
I don’t think it does. I think we do. Adalia shifted in her seat.
“Hang on,” said the boy. “Not you. You’re a … kid.”
So are you. I don’t think it matters how old we are.
“I’m not … I’m not a kid,” said the boy.
I know. I think I can see it now. Adalia looked at the boy, past the long lashes, held his gaze. Why are you watching her?
“Oh,” said the boy. “I keep hoping she’ll see me.”
I can help with that. Adalia looked at him again. Tell me your name.
“I can’t,” he said, his voice low. “You know I can’t.”
Then I’ll find it out the hard way. Adalia flicked the screen of her phone off, turning to Jessica. “Excuse me.”
“What are you doing?” said the boy.
Jessica turned her face from the window to look at Adalia. Her eyes darted towards the front of the cabin — towards Carlisle — before coming to rest on Adalia. Her face creased into that fabricated smile some adults got when they were trying to talk to a kid. Like they were trying to talk to a kid and didn’t know how. “Hello, Adalia.”
“Hey,” said Adalia. “I know this is going to come out all weird and you’re not going to understand why I’m asking this, but when did you lose him?”
Jessica’s face closed down like a vault of stone, and she moved back in her seat a fraction. Adalia didn’t know much about the military or the people who were in charge down there, but she figured that was a sign.
“Kid,” said Carlisle. “Kid, what are you doing?”
“She is doing what must be done,” said Ajay, resting his hand on Carlisle’s arm. “Let it be.”
“I don’t think so,” said Carlisle. “I—”
“Because my Mom’s out there,” said Adalia, “and so is Val, and John. And we need to go save them. But we can’t do that until we’re … we can’t do that alone. The Universe, and I don’t really understand this, okay, but the Universe needs the world saved. So I need you to tell me when you lost him.”
Nobody spoke for a long moment, then Jessica licked her lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The other thing,” said Adalia, talking faster before she could lose her nerve, “that is going to sound super weird is that I can hear it when you’re not telling me the truth. It’s like a kind of bell.”
“Okay,” said Jessica. She sat very straight in her uniform, the material looking out of place in the back of the Yukon, but perfectly suited to her. “Ok
ay. I don’t want to tell you about it.”
Adalia thought about that. “I know I’m about his age when you lost him,” she said. “I’ve figured that much out, but I … we’re going to need his help.”
Jessica leaned forward, her voice harsh. “Who told you? How did you find out about this?”
“Major,” said Ajay, his hand once again touching Carlisle’s arm, “you need to know that she is under the care of a Shield. I’d be … I’d encourage you to be cautious.”
Jessica laughed, a harsh sound with no humor in it. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“Not orders,” said Adalia. “We don’t give each other orders.” She looked over at the boy, then back to Jessica. “What’s his name?”
“Please don’t do this,” said the boy. “Please don’t.”
“I want to get out,” said Jessica. “Detective, could you stop the vehicle?”
“Can’t you see it hurts her?” said the boy.
“Jessica,” said Adalia, leaning close. “Jessica, I can help you carry it. You don’t have to hold it by yourself.”
“Stop,” said the boy, his eyes wide. He held a hand to his chest, over his heart. “I can … it hurts so much.”
“I know it hurts,” said Adalia, leaning closer. Jessica was trying to scrunch away from her in the seat, looking at Adalia like she was a cobra. Adalia reached out a hand, cautious at first.
“Don’t touch me,” said Jessica. “Don’t—”
Adalia held Jessica’s hand in the back seat of the Yukon and felt the pure touch of the Universe at last.
• • •
“Mommy!” A tiny body crashed into hers, arms grabbing her around her legs.
“Hello, what’s this?” she said. “I was expecting my family, but instead I see a limpet. Limpet, what have you done with my son?”
The limpet gripped tighter. It spoke, voice muffled.
“I see,” she said, lowering her duffel to the ground, letting her hand stray to the top of Gabriel’s head, his hair silky under her fingers. Her eyes caught those of her husband, a smile passing between them. It’d been longer this time, the tour harder now they had the little one they’d worked for. There had been the rounds of careful lovemaking after glasses of wine, Bobby’s gentle hands and soft words leading into nights of passion. She’d taken those words with her in her heart whenever she’d had to leave, but they hadn’t helped as much as the IVF.
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